The gentle and stale ringing -stealing away the whispers of the morning,cracking the silence with false and corroded songs.Disarming the melodies they’ve waited their whole lives to sing.

They perch like polite rivals - Heads buried inside of their feathers - praying to the miles stored within their wings - the sun will someday know the truth about the war waged for morning glory hymns.

We scavenged in cindered circles and collected pieces of house flesh brass frames clutching fire eaten photographs,glass and melted porcelain,reclaimed ruins we never held close enough.

We are warped clutter seizing and contorting from exposure to violent heat.We are melted and moldedand twisted and turnedand trusted to a life we didn't understand. Our mistake was not believing in this hell we had been making.

Be selfish with your heartClutch your chambers closeBreak only in case of emergencyStay gold no matter the market value

Be selfish with your heartFalse healers in search of hollowed honeycombsWill hunt you downAnd prey uponyour sweetnessyour kindnessUntil it dries up and diesleaving your sapless skeleton behindto remind all of usof how we will never survivebelievingthe nectar of unconditional loveis what keeps one alive

You know better, baby, than to believe the touristsFrom flower to flower with no pollen for the queen

Be selfish with your heartBreak the deals you madewith your past selvesin your past lives So you can barter with new devils

Put on the black lipstick, babyAnd show him the color of his lungs

Be selfish with your heartYou’re so vainHe probably thinks your veins are about him